Always (Spiral of Bliss #5) - Nina Lane Page 0,105

make photo books and journals for the kids.”

I can’t speak. I can’t even move. If I do, I’ll shatter.

“And for you,” Liv whispers, tightening her grip on me, “I want you to be happy again. Please. That’s what I desperately want for you. Happiness.”

Shutting my eyes, I try to pull air into my tight lungs.

“I’m planning to live a long, full life and to see our children grow up,” she continues. “We’re going to travel again and grow old together and play with our grandchildren. We still have so much we’re going to do. But life is life, and I need you to know everything.”

Somehow, I manage to nod. It’s all I can do. I can’t lift my head, can’t look at my wife.

“It’s you and me, professor.”

Liv puts her hands under my jaw and lifts my face. I look into the warm, golden brown of her eyes.

“We have so much light, Dean,” she says, leaning her forehead against mine. “So much great fortune. You’ve always had all of me. You always will. But this is part of me, too.”

And this is the part that could take her away from me.

I force myself to straighten, taking her hands in mine and squeezing them tightly. She’s watching me, her eyes serious and gentle, her lovely face framed by her green scarf and little silver earrings. My wife. My forest fairy. My beauty.

“Okay.” The word lodges in my throat.

“Okay.” Liv squeezes my hands in return and pushes her chair back. “I’m going to make a quick trip to the grocery store. I thought we’d have spaghetti and meatballs tonight, and maybe we can all go to the Chocolate Tree afterward for dessert.”

I nod and get to my feet. I want to grab her, pull her against me and hold her tight, but I’m scared I won’t be able to let her go. Instead I brush my lips across her cheek, breathing in her scent of peaches and vanilla.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you, Dean. I’ll be back soon.” She slides her hand down my cheek and turns to the door. “Call me if you need me.”

I always need you.

I need her forever.

I listen to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, then stare at the notebook she’d left on a table. I can’t pick it up. Can’t see her words in writing.

I go to the window and watch my wife walk out to the front porch, her purse slung over her shoulder. A breeze ripples her scarf as she opens the car door and gets into the driver’s seat.

After a minute, she reverses and turns the car around. I watch her disappear down the drive, the car engine echoing in the distance. Then there’s silence.

I miss her. I’ve missed her. My healthy, vibrant, full-of-life Liv.

I stand at the window for a second or for hours. I don’t know. This time, the rage builds slowly, insidious, a hot flow encroaching on my mind, my consciousness, my heart.

I take a few breaths, my fists clenching. I try to smother the poisonous, helpless anger, but Liv’s words have shattered me beyond repair, and I have no strength left.

Before I can stop it, something explodes in my chest. A howl of raw pain and rage fills my ears. Then another. Another. The sound is coming from me.

Fury scorches my blood. Blindly, I turn and grab a table piled with papers. In one movement, I send it crashing against the opposite wall. The wood cracks and splinters.

Another animal-like roar bursts from my throat. My muscles stiffen. I seize the edges of a bookshelf and overturn it, suddenly wanting to destroy everything. I pick up a lamp and crash it against the door, broken ceramic raining to the floor.

I sweep my arm across my desk, sending useless papers and books flying, and smash my fist against the stupid framed pictures of illuminated manuscript pages and historical paintings. When they’re all broken, I hit the walls until my knuckles bleed, unable to stop the rage detonating from the center of my soul.

When I slam my fist into the window, the glass shatters. Pain shoots through my arm, penetrating my black fury. Blood swells on my hands. Sweat drips down my temples.

I sink back against the wall and slide to the floor. Through the darkness, a pure, crystalline image of Liv rises.

My face is wet. I swipe a hand across my eyes. My vision blurs again. Tears spill over, hot and fast. I start to shake, grief boiling